


Her Papageno

by lechatnoir



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Community: rotg_kink, F/M, Gen, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechatnoir/pseuds/lechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Rotg kink meme prompt - " I was listening to the Papageno/Papagena aria from The Magic Flute, and remembered some of the "soul song/soul mate" prompts that have been going on. So here's one for Tooth! " </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>In which songs are quite powerful things, even if she does not want to admit it and he does not believe in them.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sonata I

i.

She remembers colors and sashes swirling, the steamy warm air drifting through the windows as she rearranged the flowers outside, the music humming in the background as she watched her little fairies flit and fly about, sorting teeth and exchanging them for coins , lickety split and quick as birds.

She remembers her mother and father, saying that hymns and arias were made of magic, to never lose sight, to keep a hymn on your lips even if there is fear clawing at your throat, even if the walls seem to loom higher and higher, trapping you in a cage that you cannot fight your way through. 

She thinks of nightmares and shadows, and a laughter that never seems to go away, even after they had driven Pitch away, back to his lair of dirt and cold metal works, cages that seemed to thrive in the empty hollow of the earth's cold walls.

ii.

She keeps tabs on everyone - Sandy and Jack, North and Bunnymund of course. 

They are never far from her sight, and she tries to keep in touch - tries, being the keyword but sometimes she gets caught up in the memory catching of it all - the Man in the Moon oftentimes shines a ray of moonbeams to reassure her, that she is not alone, that she is safe for now - she is tired and wary, and slowly getting old for the field.

(She can only laugh and shake her head when Baby Tooth notices that she hasn't been sleeping, shaking her shoulder gently and chirping with concern but she only smiles and tells her that it's quite alright - it's perfectly alright, she can manage.)

ii.

There has been a constant gnawing of worry in the pit of her stomach . 

She feels restless and wary, feels as if the colors that she sees are not as vibrant as they used to be, that she is getting sloppy with her work - that she is not as bright, nor as quick as she once was.

(She thinks it's time to bring out her old swords, battle-worn and familiar friends to her touch, that dance and sing with joy the moment she places her hands on them, and it is a dance that she can perform once more, with eyes closed and breath even, walls shining and humming, painting the palace in hues of greens and blues and pinks, with orange fires dancing along her skin.)

It is one step forward, a lunge – metal singing though the air like a sonata to an unwritten lover whom she cannot hear nor imagine – For who would want a Queen of Memories and forgotten things? A kingdom with no one but the sky and trees and mountains for company , gold and greys and azure colors swirling through the air and who would know what she thinks, the blood of enemies on her hands and a childish laugh on her lips as she slips under the nightmares that drag her down , cut her wings off and she cannot breath - yet it dances and plays with her all the same.

Perhaps it is something that you are over looking, Tooth.

Maybe it’s your age catching up to you.

Maybe you think the blood stains have washed out from your skin but you’re wrong – they’re there and they won’t ever go away, you silly foolish girl. 

She lets out a quiet snarl and thrusts her arms into the air, spinning and whirling and it is an old forgotten idea that she has now remembered, an emblem of a warrior queen, fires burning and cavalries storming the skies, seizing the lands and destroying the darkness that seemed to engulf the world in wisps and smoke and and intangible laughter that never stops ringing in her head. 

iii.

He is darkness and humiliation, constant smiles and grins – laughing like hyenas as the King sits on his throne of darkness and despair and the same fears that he has created have now destroyed him, gaping holes and golden eyes seething with contempt and fury.

He is silent and thinks a nice slumber is well worth the ache in his bones.

He will let them think he has lost the battle, let them falsify their safeties and dream up dreams worth corrupting.

He will be silent as the shadows, but he will watch from the trees and the eyes of the owls and ravens, the crows and the beds that the children cower under, afraid of monsters and things that went bump in the night.

He will watch them and laugh quietly, for there is no such thing as sonatas or songs for the blessed, for connections by red strings or fate.

There is only fear and lust, and hatred.

He will laugh and drive his walls up further, close up in his cocoon of hatred and silent whispers of a impending destruction. 

He will spin webs of fear, deceit and mistrust.

For they do not have to be children to be scared – and he will rise again, a smile and a shine of malice in his eyes, for he has been quiet for far too long.

(He does not notice a tug in his heartstrings, for what is left has been eaten away by the nightmares and fearlings that have consumed him whole, the man who he was once, moons ago – struggles and suffocates as he tries to break free, to the surface of this demon’s minds but he can only fail, fall to his doom and drown like Icarus did, wings burning with the rays of the sun that tinged and burnt and destroyed and he can only laugh laugh laugh, cold and swallowing the world whole) 

There is a quiet sonata, played by two hearts – one full of life and vibrancy, of memories and sweet bitter longings, and a heart of terror and decay, too rotten to even give a damn but there is a small silver of gold that has not yet rusted completely, and perhaps it will work , in some shape, way, or form.

Perhaps, if sonatas and arias are the ways to the heart of someone who you can learn to love, in some pattern or formula, shaped by the winds of fancy and a silver of hope.


	2. Chasing Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She recalls her mother's tale of how her parents met, and he remembers old war songs and his daughter's old forgotten smile. 
> 
> (Or so they think that the singing that they hear is odd and terribly enticing but do not expect anything at all )

i.

She remembers silvers and golds, blues and reds and the scent of chamomile and lilacs drifting through the air as she sat on her mother’s lap, the hum of drums and trumpets blaring as the palace was filled with dancing gowns and laughter.

It was peaceful and it was her seventh birthday today, with a terribly loud and colorful celebration underway at the palace, for she was her parents’ little bird and she was happy as she could possibly be.   
There was a question that was gnawing at her and made her all clammy and nervous and full of fear, like the monsters that would lie in wait underneath her bed, when she’d run to her parent’s bedroom and bury herself in the covers, safe in the thoughts of Momma’s swords and cloaks, and Papa’s strong grasp and kind voice – 

they’d protect her but the monsters would still come, and that’s how it felt like, for her in that moment, seven years old and a question that is too big and complicated and it won’t go away, so she musters the courage and pipes up from her place on her mother’s lap, silk and blossoms in her hair, feathers and gold lining the hem of her dress – 

“Momma, do you think I will love someone someday?” 

 

She is greeted with a chuckle and a smile on her mother’s face as Rashmi is clad in gold and light blues and reds, earrings and jewels that hang and frame her face , like gold lilacs and wildflowers humming in the wind.

“Of course you will , Tooth. You may meet them during a hard time in your life, or through a song – that is how I met your father, when he was a travelling man, on the hunt with a man possessed with greed, for the pure sake of game – he had wanted to hunt for a winged elephant, but your father thwarted his plans and had stopped me from getting killed by the man. There was a hidden hymn that we heard, it was only for our ears that we had heard it, but it drew us together and soon enough, you were born, little one.” 

 

She hopes and dreams and smiles at her mother, watching the gowns and jewels clang and sing as the music drifted higher and higher along the palace walls.

ii.

It is the cold silence of the sun drifting through the winds of Punjam Hy Loo , and she sits on her throne, metal works and stone carvings strumming a melody as she hums an old song that she remembers from her youth, something dark and dreary but there is a note of hope, of longing for someone close , to confide and to see the world with.

(You are far too old, Tooth. Old as the mountains and yet, younger than the wind) 

She cannot say where she has heard the song before, but she thinks of darkness and gold lockets, old forgotten demons creeping up on her and she fidgets in her throne before huffing and fiddling with her swords, strumming a song.

“Baby Tooth, I’m going out for a bit , keep watch while I’m gone, alright?” 

She hears the nod and twittering of her Mini Fairies before she walks to the edge and jumps, wings humming and cutting across the clouds because the song never leaves her head.

(It is a man’s voice that sings, velvet and warm and it is terribly odd, because she seems to think it comes from the earth’s soil but that isn’t possible, is it?) 

iii.

He thinks of old war songs, posters of the call for arms, and the smile of his little girl singing an old lullaby that her mother taught her to keep the nightmares at bay.

(Don’t worry, daddy will protect you and keep you safe, Seraphina) 

He snarls and claws at his face before getting off of his throne, cold cages whisper and creek in the air, chains rattling and the lights that seem to go out of his vision.

He is tired and angry, wounds that have been licked and groomed for far too long.  
(They have started to fester and corrupt once more)

He hears the melody of someone singing, light and airy and yet there is a some sort of steel in the tone – he cannot make the connection, nor can he understand why – 

It isn’t as if he doesn’t have enough screams and cries to last an entire symphony in his head – 

Yet it is comforting and he welcomes it.

Slowly but surely, he leaves his lair, gold and greys swirling around him as he reaches for the moon’s rays once more and hisses, instead watching the cold water of the lake hum and softly flicker like a snake gleaming in the sun , bathing in the moon beams. 

He notices colors and the buzzing of wings- the familiar feathers and never ending sense of movement and there is a sense of utter dread but the voice gets louder and louder in his head and yet there is a mask on his face, defensive and cold and the epitome of the Nightmare King.

“What are you doing here, Tooth? Did you hit your head on a pole while you were buzzing around like a bug again?” 

He turns and locks eyes with the Warrior Queen, and there is a quiet silence that drapes about them, warm and curious but it is something odd.

(There is a sense of wonder and delight, and perhaps, even a little bit of peace- in some oddly warped sort of way)


End file.
